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Well, my good people, it is Wednesday.

Hump day, the halfway point, the day I’m supposed to have off of work but that was somehow forgotten by my manager. Thanks Barb, you’re a real pal.

In other news, my eldest brother is to be wed this upcoming Saturday to his betrothed. Oh, yes. How adorable. Flowers and sparkles and unicorns for all the children of the world.

Now, I’m not saying it won’t be great and touching and all that Hallmark card sappiness. I’m thrilled for both of them honestly. They’re great together, quite an ideal couple if I do say so myself (not that I would know much about that), it’s enough to make a puppy sick with the sweetness of it all.

So, what is it then that has ol’ Sam bitter? It is the fact that I despise social gatherings of the family nature on a hellishly fiery level. They are brutal. I’m sure you all can understand where I’m coming from. The weird uncle lurking in the corners, that aunt that feels the need to invade your personal space more than anyone ever should, and all other delightful members of a mildly to severely dysfunctional family unit.

As a bonus to this fantastic package, there is also the add on that my mother is the type of person who’s normal inside voice is the equivalent of any other person’s yelling and she thrives on conflict in a slightly twisted manner. Although she brings up quite frequently how much she despises it, it’s an even more common occurrence for her to be skipping and dancing her way around making uninvited entrances into every possible conversation whilst loudly expressing her opinion and slaughtering yours like an innocent baby lamb. It’s gruesome. My mother is that person that your mother always avoided at picnics and potlucks.

Love is a beautiful thing, let me tell you. Almost as beautiful as the fire that I will most certainly be setting ablaze this Saturday shall be.